


Whiskey Sour

by TheFeistyRogue



Series: Inception Fics [9]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Drabble, Humor, M/M, Married Couple, Romance, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-08
Updated: 2019-04-08
Packaged: 2020-01-06 22:24:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18397562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheFeistyRogue/pseuds/TheFeistyRogue
Summary: Arthur is married. Ariadne is intrigued. Eames is amused.





	Whiskey Sour

“I’m married,” Arthur said when Ariadne asked him to join her for a drink at the hotel bar, the indecent way that she eyed him leaving no room for doubt as to what she was actually after. They were standing in the reception of the Ritz-Carlton, each with their respective room keys in hand. 

An incredulous expression passed over Ariadne’s face before she schooled it into amusement.

“Arthur, you sly dog,” she said. Arthur supposed he understood where she might have gotten the wrong idea. He  _ had _ kissed her, after all.

Eames stepped up to the desk behind them. “I’ll come for a drink,” he said cheerfully. “And Arthur will come too, won’t you darling? He knows I’ll protect his virtue.”

Arthur pursed his lips, taking stock of himself. He was tired, weary more than anything, but a shower would refresh him.

“I’ll be down in half an hour,” he said. “If I must.”

“Oh, certainly,” Eames answered with a cheeky wink. Arthur glared at him, picked up his suitcase, and walked away from them, toward the lifts. As he left them, he could hear Ariadne distantly say;

“Aren’t you going to get a room?"

To which Eames answered; “I’ve already got one. I was a boy scout, you know. I’m always prepared.”

Arthur snorted, amused despite himself. Eames was such a liar.

He returned far more comfortable in clothing he’d not worn for a twelve-hour flight. Eames was already a whiskey sour down, another dangling lazily from his fingers while he gestured with his other hand, some joke Arthur must have heard a thousand times.

“And so I got on the horse, stilettos and all, and – hey, what’s this?” Arthur had stolen the drink, the glass cool against his lips as he sipped. The tang of lemon rolled over his tongue and he smiled down at Eames.

“I seem to remember you wearing kitten heels, not stilettos,” Arthur said. He took the armchair next to Eames, directly opposite Ariadne.

She was drinking champagne, the flute delicately held between slim fingers. She could afford to drink nothing but champagne, Arthur supposed, as Saito had made them all rich as kings.

“First you ruin my story,” Eames grumbled, “and now you’ve stolen my drink, you little minx.” 

He flagged down a waiter and ordered a gin and tonic instead. It was Eames’s drink of choice, when he wasn’t buying for Arthur instead of himself.

“All of his stories are lies,” Arthur advised Ariadne, allowing himself to slouch in the chair. A lazy, satisfied feeling settled over him. He stretched his legs wide and permitted the tip of his brogues to nudge the boat shoes Eames wore. The gesture was hidden from Ariadne by the table, but Eames shot him a faux scandalous look all the same.

“All the good ones are,” Eames said, unbothered. “We’re all stories, anyway.”

Ariadne squeaked in delight. “Oh, Doctor Who?”

“Another Whovian? Arthur, we truly are in good company.” Eames’s eyes sparkled as he eyed Ariadne. He began firing off questions; which was her favourite Doctor, what did she think of the end of season five?

Arthur smiled, tuning them out as he tilted his head back to stare at the ceiling, happy that Eames was happy. After months of separation, it felt nice to be in the same city as Eames, let alone the same hotel. The inception of Fisher had been brutal, not at all the sort of job he’d wanted Eames anywhere near, but as Eames often reminded him, Arthur was his husband, not his mother, and therefore Eames would take whatever jobs he liked, even the dangerous ones.

Besides, they’d have been fucked without Eames there. Cobb had dropped into limbo again, Saito had spent years there, by the sounds of things — perhaps if they got Ariadne drunk enough, she’d tell them what happened down below.

“Darling!”

Arthur jerked back when Eames kicked him in the shin, sitting upright in the armchair.

“Bastard,” Arthur muttered. Ariadne was giggling at the two of them, her champagne glass refilled once more.

“I was saying,” Eames said, arching a brow, “that your partner is exceedingly attractive. Ariadne was asking, you see.”

“Exceedingly full of himself,” Arthur muttered. 

“Him,” Ariadne echoed. “Oh! You’re gay?”

She immediately caught herself, hand covering mouth as she flushed.

Arthur exchanged a look with Eames, who seemed to want to share their secret, judging by the wiggling of his brows.

“Very,” Arthur answered. “Very, extremely gay.” He leaned back, settling into the cushions. “As Eames can attest to.”

Ariadne’s gaze flickered between the two of them as she put the pieces together.

“Oh!” she squealed, even more delighted by this than by the implication that Arthur wasn’t straight. “That explains… well, a lot, really.”

The smug glint to Eames’s gaze was all for Arthur and he basked in its warmth. Eames winked, and Arthur smiled back in return.


End file.
